


Take it Easy

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Humanstuck, M/M, Meet-Ugly, One Shot, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: Dave's half-naked jam session to Hannah Montana is rudely interrupted when someone wanders into the subway bathroom he's brushing his teeth in.For my boyfriend.





	Take it Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

I freeze, ceasing my dancing, as the door to the bathroom slams shut. I look over, and there’s another guy standing in the doorway. Okay, yeah, I should’ve been expecting that. I lean against the sink as casually as I can, clad in only my boxers and with a toothbrush sticking out of my frothy mouth. Hannah Montana blasts from my thoroughly cracked phone, which is propped up against the dirty subway-bathroom mirror.

“Havin’ a jam session, my guy,” I answer, shooting him a smirk, “what does it look like?”

“It _looks_ like you’re a lunatic,” the visitor snaps, “you’re dancing to shit music in a subway bathroom, only wearing boxers and a pair of fucking sunglasses!”

I have an explanation, but the way the guy is seething is a little hilarious. Initially, I was slightly embarrassed, but the way he’s scowling at me is too hard to resist.

“Hey, don’t diss Miss Montana like that,” I retort, feigning offense by raising my hand to my chest, “she was, no doubt, a staple of the early-2000’s childhood.”

The man rubs a hand down his face.

“You’re absolutely insane,” he says, “who the fuck are you? How is this okay?”

“I’m Dave, and you are?” I move away from the sink, taking a few steps towards him, and hold out a hand for him to shake. There’s a cheeky smile on my face, and I can see his eye visibly twitch as I move closer.

“I’m leaving,” he announces, starting to turn on his heel, and I laugh.

“I was just trying to get on your nerves, dude. Don’t let me keep you from using the bathroom. I’m just having a grand ol’ time here.”

He stops, sighing.

“Only because I haven’t pissed all fucking day,” he grumbles, storming past me and past the divider, presumably making himself comfortable at a urinal.

“So,” I drag out the word on my tongue obnoxiously before I continue, “what brings you to this lovely section of the New-York-City-Subway, Mr. I-Hate-Hannah-Montana?”

“Why should I tell you?” he replies, tone sharp.

Before I continue the conversation, I pull the toothbrush out of my mouth and rinse the toothpaste from around my lips.

“Well, we could do a lil’ trade,” I offer, clicking my tongue, “you tell me what brought you here, and I’ll tell you what brought me here.”

“Why on _Earth_ would I want to know that?” he scoffs, emerging from the divider and buttoning up his pants. He lets his sweater fall over his fly, walking up to the sink beside the one I’m leaning up against.

“Because, aren’t you curious? I mean, you flipped your shit walking in here. Aren’t you going to spend the rest of your life wondering what brought us together on this fine, winter day? Thinking of that really cool, super-hot guy you met in the subway bathroom –”

“Shut the fuck up,” he interrupts me, and now that he’s up close, I can see that he’s actually pretty attractive. His hair is sort of a curly mop on his head, framing his face and showing just enough of his ears for me to see his little, black gauges. His eyes are a fiery, pleasant brown. As he looks at me, he plays with the piercings in his lower lip; snakebites, I think they’re called.

“Humor me?” I say, drumming my fingers on the wet porcelain of the sink.

He shakes the water off of his hands.

“Fine,” he concedes, crossing his arms, “why _are_ you here, Dave?” The way my name falls from his lips is as if he’s spitting acid at me, but it’s kind of nice that he remembered it.

“Well, you see, when I was born –” as I talk, I force back a laugh. He rolls his eyes, and I wave my hand dismissively, “I’m playing, I’m playing. Nah, I’m from Houston, y’know, Texas. I’m here to visit my sister, but she’s at work, and I lost the keys to her apartment on the plane. So, I’m kinda stuck, and after I ruined my clothes in a Thai-food-fiasco, I was kinda forced to improvise.”

“So … you came to the subway to _brush your teeth_?”

“Well, they lost my bag, all I’ve got is my backpack,” I rub the back of my neck, motioning to the worn Vans backpack sitting on the ground, “and my mouth felt kinda gross because I had something with garlic in it earlier, and I don’t fuck with the aftertaste, and my clothes were lowkey burning my fucking skin from whatever sauce I got all over them, so … yeah. I don’t have any more clothes, so I came here to, like, figure something out.”

The man’s face softens a little bit.

“Oh,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dude,” I shoot him a smile, “I was just trying to make the most of a shit day, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he offers, “I mean … can I help you somehow? I could, I don’t know, fucking buy you some tourist sweatpants and a sweatshirt?”

“God no,” I reply, “as wonderfully ironic as that would be, you don’t have to spend your money on me. I’ll figure something out.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but as he does, my phone rings. Corey Hart’s “Sunglasses at Night” floods the bathroom, interrupting the seemingly never-ending stream of Hannah Montana songs.

We both glance over, and the name ‘Rose Lalonde’ is plastered across the screen. I pick up the phone, pushing it up awkwardly against my ear with vigor; thank god, she’d finally seen my flood of messages begging for her to let me into her apartment.

We have a very short conversation, in which she tells me that my situation is indeed very unfortunate, and she is on her way with a change of clothes and a spare key. I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the tension I’d been absorbed in all day melting away. When I hang up, I realize the other guy is still standing in front of me, deep in thought.

“Something up, my guy? Why’re you still around? Want more time to bathe in my sweet, southern drawl?”

“Your sister is Rose Lalonde?” he says, suddenly, ignoring my previous statements.

“Oh, yeah, do you know her?” I put my phone back up against the mirror, rubbing my arms. It’s just starting to hit me how cold it is to be nearly naked in here.

“… You’re Dave Strider,” he deadpans, before running both hands over his face and pacing a small circle on the dirty floor-tiles, “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re Dave Strider.”

“How’d you know? Big fan of the online comics?” I joke – awkwardly. I’m aware confusion paints my face; I’ve certainly never met this guy before … at least I don’t think so.

“I’m Karkat,” he answers, meeting my gaze, “Karkat Vantas. Kanaya’s friend.”

Oh, _shit_.

About three months ago, Rose and her fiancée had made a little group-chat for some of the guests attending the wedding. That group included myself and Karkat Vantas, a guy whose phone was locked on caps lock and who I’d made a hobby of pissing off so often that Rose had us move to direct messages. In fact, Karkat and I had been getting along beautifully, and I had recently turned our friendly banter into a kind of half-flirting. We’d sent selfies at some point in the past, but so far back that I didn’t recognize him when he’d walked into the bathroom – and, clearly, he didn’t recognize me either.

“I – well, damn, it’s nice to finally meet you,” I offer a breathy laugh, opening my arms. Karkat hesitates, but sighs, moving to hug me. His sweater is itchy against my bare skin, but his hair is soft.

“Of course, you’d be the fucking idiot dancing to Hannah Montana in the subway bathroom,” he groans as he pulls away, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you, Kit-Kat,” he bristles at the nickname, and I can’t help but smile, continuing, “I can’t believe I didn’t realize how hot you were.”

“I – ” he crosses his arms, his face reddening, “fuck off.”

I laugh, covering my mouth with my arm, and he rolls his eyes.

My phone buzzes against the mirror, and I pick it up. It’s Rose – she’s waiting outside the bathroom.

“Well, my ride’s here,” I sigh, stretching, and pick up my bag and soiled clothes.

“I’ll walk you out,” Karkat offers, adding an almost silent, “fuckface.”

We walked out of the bathroom and up the stairs, emerging on the street. The cold hit me like a tidal wave, and I immediately went to rub my bare arms. People on the street glanced over, but no one really made a big deal of me being in my boxers. That’s New York for you, I guess.

Rose is sitting in her little black car just up the block.

I nudge Karkat, and he glances up at me.

“What? Aren’t you going to go? You’ll catch a cold out here, idiot.”

I grin, just shaking my head, before leaning down and pecking him on the cheek. His eyes widen, but his mouth twitches up into a smile, and more color floods his cheeks. God, he’s cute.

“See ya,” I say, giving a little wave as I make my way into the crowded street, giving one last call of, “text me!”

That night, Rose announces that she and her fiancée are having dinner, and there’s someone coming they’d like me to finally meet. When I walk into the restaurant and Karkat is sitting there, well – the rest of the night is history.


End file.
